


The Prisoner & The Guard

by jesscandigelvis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1948, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prison, Anal Sex, Angst, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), BAMF Dean Winchester, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Fighting, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Porn With Plot, Prison, Racism, Rimming, Smoking, Sorry john, Swearing, Top Dean, Triggers, Violence, back in time, cursing, john is a bastard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-04-29 17:15:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14477460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesscandigelvis/pseuds/jesscandigelvis
Summary: In 1948 Dean Winchester is serving two consecutive life sentences for a crime he did not commit. During induction he meets the seemingly brutal Chief Guard, Castiel Novak. Soon they fall into an affair that could jeopardise everything. Sometimes love and comfort are found in the most unlikely of places.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments and kudos (If I deserve them) I'll try my best to post as regularly as I can! <3  
> Any recs for things you want to see in this fic please let me know - Jessica

_Prologue_

1948

The room wasn’t cold and lifeless like Dean had expected it to be. It was uncomfortably warm and restless. His shirt stuck to his back where the slats of the wooden chair pressed against him. What had started as a dull, echo filled room was now heaving with people.  Jury members, lawyers, spectators, and the press. Everyone whispering. Everyone sweating. Every furnishing was made from mahogany. From the jury box to the judge’s gavel, the world around Dean shone with a reddish hue. Dean’s court appointed attorney, Matthew Pike, was sat at his side. He was a young guy, straight out of law school and thrown, with no co-council, into a murder trial. Matthew cleared his throat nervously as the judge returned through a side door.

“All rise for the honourable Judge Charles Shurley” The squeaking scraping sound of dozens of chairs sliding back across the wooden floor filled the room as everyone stood until Judge Shurley waved a hand impatiently.

“Be seated”

A chorus of stomping feet and creaking chairs until the room fell into silence. As soon as Judge Shurley began to speak again the stenographer began to furiously tap at her typewriter in the corner of the courtroom.

“The defence will please rise for the reading of the verdict”

Dean and Matthew stood. Dean could swear he could feel Matthew shaking next to him - poor kid was more afraid than he was. Dean had prepared himself for this. He’d had a shitty defence; the prosecution and the jury had clearly known Dean was either lying or withholding information for the duration of the trial. It had been both, and Dean had buried himself with his dishonesty.

“Mr Foreman, has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?”

“We have your Honour…” 

Dean closed his eyes

“In the matter of the State of Kansas versus Dean Winchester on the charge of two counts of murder in the first degree, Sam Winchester on the April 2nd, 1948 and of John Winchester also on April 2nd, 1948, the jury, find the defendant, Dean Winchester, guilty on both counts.”

Dean exhaled but did not open his eyes.

“Thank you. This now concludes your service, the court thanks you. Mr Winchester will now be taken into custody to await sentencing. For what it’s worth, Mr Winchester…”

Dean opened his eyes and met the judges narrowed ones

“...I find you to be a very damaged and sick individual, and I believe speak on behalf of the entire state of Kansas when I say we hope you rot in the cell you are given. Take him away.” he finished with a cold hiss and a deafening bang of his gavel.

Dean did not respond and allowed his wrists and ankles to be restrained once more as two men frog-marched him from the courtroom. Dean could hear the vicious catcalls of the spectators following him even when the door closed behind him and he was led down the stairs to his holding cell under the courthouse. The rusted bars slid shut with a dull clank behind him. He was finally alone in the silence he so craved. He listened as the officer’s footfalls faded and eventually disappeared before he let the tears come. He wept silently into his shaking knees until there was nothing left. Then he slept a restless sleep.

  Three days later he was sentenced. Two consecutive life sentences to be served in Kansas’ State Penitentiary. The thirty-mile trip would be made with the rest of the newly convicted crooks and killers next Monday on a guarded bus. Until then Dean would sit in the holding cell, being fed three times a day. Dean at least felt relief that no one would speak to him for four days before the bus came to collect him.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 1

 

_Dean Winchester_

 

The smell of sweat was overwhelming. Dean was jostled from both sides on his seat as the bus rocked itself down a narrow dirt road at dusk. Every pothole slam meant an elbow to the ribs or a shoulder to the cheek. No one spoke. The few times Dean spared a glance to any of the other prisoners all he could see were small men trying to look bigger than they were. Brows furrowed in pathetic attempts to appear menacing. It could have made Dean smirk, in another life, anyway. But here, now, wrists and ankles shackled, sweating, and with a rifle toting guard only inches from his face, Dean really didn’t think his mouth was capable of making the shape of anything resembling a smile. The bus lurched again causing the large black man to his left to thump into his side painfully. Dean just righted himself and ignored it. Regardless of being on a prison bus, lefty was built like a brick shit house and Dean knew better. Usually.

   When the bus finally slowed, all Dean could think of was getting a little air, maybe a breeze, he would have even welcomed rain. He was greeted with only a humid June heat that choked him like a wet flannel over an open mouth. He stood, head down in a tightly packed line of convicts as the guards methodically linked their ankle cuffs to the men in front and behind. Like there was anywhere to run to, should one of them decide to bolt. They were already caged. Dozens of armed guards in every direction. A guy would have been shot dead before he could reach the fence. Not one of these guys looked like they were capable of an escape, at sight of the prison a wave of shoulders slumped as each man forgot their intimidation tactics and allowed themselves to be led, stumbling while bound unceremoniously between two sandy yards towards the doors. Fences ran fifteen feet high around them, spaces between the metal wiring not even big enough to get the toe end of your shoe through for grip; the tops ornamented with barbed wire. ‘Dangerous tinsel’, Sam had once called it. Dean cannot now remember what conversational tangent they had wandered down to allow his little brother to make the observation, all he remembered was how it made him laugh one Christmas, as they decorated a potted plant they had stolen from the neighbour’s garden.

   The large unfinished oak doors were opened from the inside as they approached. The troop were marched through wide halls where the linoleum gleamed and screeched under boot. Eventually they were stopped in a high-ceilinged stone room and ordered to rest their foreheads against a damp, whitewashed wall. They stripped and were hosed, de-loused and finally unchained then marched shivering once more through identical corridors, each with bars that whip-cracked closed behind them the second the last inmates' bare ass had cleared the threshold. Dean kept his eyes trained on the ankles of the man in front of him. He could hear the veteran inmates calling through the bars of their cells. In his peripheral vision he could see hands reaching out for him and the others, though far too far away to brush his chilled skin. Slowly but surely each prisoner was led to a cell, handed a package and shoved unwillingly inside: some alone, some in pairs. There were glass inserts in the ceiling and Dean could see that night was here, the sky starless but the moon could be spotted through one pane.

   It would figure that Dean would be the last one left. Second floor end cell was his. The iron latticed floor creaked beneath him as he was pushed through the opening, a package identical to the dozens of other doled out was thrust into his arms and, with that, the guards stomped noisily away. There was a man sat on the bottom bunk, crossed legged and expectant. He looked Dean up and down as he stood naked and humiliated in the dim light. ‘ _Even the bulb is caged’_ , Dean thought grimly as he cast a quick glance around the room and caught sight of the light above the door, wrapped safely in metal like the rest of the place. Dean shuffled with his thighs locked together to the corner to unfold his packet. He quickly tugged on the blue jeans and greying t-shirt, forgoing the striped button down for the moment. Dean thanked the skies that the jeans stayed up around his waist with no need for a belt. The man on the bed didn’t move, even when Dean turned to face him. There were pictures around the stranger’s bed, mainly ladies that had been cut out of magazines in varying stages of undress alongside a few sketches and doodles that Dean couldn’t really make out. Dean thought of nodding or greeting him in some way but changed his mind at the last second and turned away again. There was a small sink and something resembling a toilet made of steel in the corner he was already stood in, so he opted for brushing his teeth. He has been given a toothbrush but no paste. There was toothpaste on the side of the basin. Maybe he would ask chuckle about it later, for now he would be fine with just the wet toothbrush. Dean gulped water from the tap once he was done, and soaked his face thoroughly to rub off the residual de-lousing powder from his stinging eyes and nostrils. He turned to face the bunks again. Dean didn’t know the etiquette and didn’t want to dive to the top bunk to get way from the stranger’s eyes, so he stood, trying to stop himself from rocking awkwardly from foot to foot waiting for some kind of signal. A guard called from the distance and the communal areas beyond the cell dropped into darkness. The cell light stayed lit, Dean stared at it for somewhere to look.

“Stays on another thirty minutes for reading.” the strangers voice rumbled quietly like Dean was an idiot.

“Do a lotta reading do ya?” Dean quipped quickly, instantly annoyed

The stranger scowled then looked at his crossed knees, confused.

“Sorry, man.” Dean muttered. 

“Not to worry about, brother. Top bunk's yours, if ya want it?”

“Thanks.”

Dean slung up the shirt and pillow case that he had been given and went to hoist himself up before the strangers stuck out a hand in Deans direction. It took Dean a moment to realise he was supposed to take it. When he did, the stranger spoke again:

“Name's Benny.”

“Dean Winchester.”

Benny’s eyes widened slightly at the name, but Dean pretended not to notice. He hadn’t expected the recognition, he knew he’d been all over the newspapers as the whack-job that killed his family, apparently so much so that even the incarcerated knew about him. Whatever Benny knew of Dean he didn’t let on. Just shook his hand firmly before allowing Dean to use his bed as a foot brace to launch himself onto his own mattress above. 

Dean got his hard pillow arranged just so and wriggled underneath the blanket. He could hear Benny doing the same. The bed springs croaked and groaned under his weight as he shifted in a desperate attempt at comfort that couldn’t be found. When the cell light finally clicked out Deans mind wandered, as it invariably did, to Sam and his father, John; the arrest and the trial and everything in between. Dean scrunched his eyes up tight until they ached and thought of Sammy. He thought of that Christmas long ago. Dean has stolen them a box of instant hot chocolate powder from a nearby grocery store and they’d had to mix it with water from the hot tap of the bathroom in the shit hole they’d been staying in out in butt-fuck nowhere. Deans eyes stung when he thought of how Sammy had wrapped half opened toiletries in wallpaper scavenged from behind the bed to allow Dean something to open on Christmas morning.  Then he thought of his father coming back and not allowing Dean to give Sam his present. The memory somewhat dinned now, Dean can’t remember what was wrapped in the little package his father snatched from him and never returned. He remembered that he stole it from a store in Nevada somewhere. He thought of how his father would go away for months at a time, he was a hunter of sorts, although he’d never seen a single animal returned to the dinner table. John was always a better drinker than he was a hunter or a father. Dean had tried his best to fill that void for Sammy. Taught him to tie his shoes, clean a rifle, change the oil on a car… All the things Dean never learned from John.

   Dean had learned all that from Uncle Bobby. Bobby was a great man and a perfect drop off when John wanted to unload the kids for a week or three, but Bobby never seemed to mind.  He’d cook for them every day, let them ride horses in the field as long as they cleaned out the barn once they were done. He taught Dean and Sam a lot about life and the world that neither of them experienced much of. Bobby had died when Dean was fifteen, Sam would have been eleven. He was shot dead in his back yard while Dean and Sam rode Percherons in the field. Dean remembers finding Bobby, but nothing beyond seeing his body, face down on the lawn. He would later be told he drove to town to find help in lieu of a telephone, he spoke to the cops and the coroner and screamed as they took Bobby away. Sam remembers. Dean does not.  The cops called John, it took him three days to make the two-hour drive back to get the boys. He didn’t say a word about it until the day he died.

That day, three months ago was burned fresh and fierce into Deans memory. No seemingly trauma induced blackouts when it came to the death of his father. Two years prior to that day Dean had fled. Swearing to Sam he would return for him once he knew they would have somewhere to go. Dean had sweet talked his way into a few jobs across the country. Bar tending, flour-bag hauling and a pretty horrific week as a dye house worker. In two years Dean managed to save up $400 after buying a beater of a car, feeding himself and paying rent on a room above the diner that he frequented.  Dean packed up his few belongings and drove back to Lawrence to get his brother. Dean had written dozens of letters to Sam but never received a reply. He knew Sammy was too smart to try and send letters back to Dean, his father would have known. But he was sure that Sam was waiting for him.

Dean had drove a day and a night without sleep, desperate to see his brother again. Desperate to pull him away from his father’s path of destruction. When he finally pulled up outside the rundown house he had called home for so many years the light were off, and the street was quiet. It was almost 4am and only the birds could be heard. Dean had hoped he could sneak in, rouse a sleeping Sammy and drive away with his father none the wiser. He’d already bought Sam some new clothes and shoes, even a few books so there was no need to pack.  Dean deftly picked the lock on the back door before slipping inside. It took Dean only moments to make it upstairs to the landing. He stole through the house remembering the place of each creaky floorboard that he’d avoided even as a child. He slipped down the hall to Sam’s room, testing the door knob to check Sam hadn’t locked it from the inside. As the latch clicked softly open Dean heard a noise akin to a whimper before he felt a blinding pain behind his eyes. He fell over the threshold of the door and tried to regain his balance and sight. Still on his knees he was struck again. Through the shrill ringing in his ears he could hear John’s roars

“…trying to take him… NOT YOURS TO TAKE!” another blow and Dean chin slammed into the bare floorboards of Sam’s bedroom.

“…don’t know who the hell you think you are, boy!” Dean rolled and managed to avoid another hit. He could taste blood and smell stale whiskey. He kicked out in the direction of the yelling desperately until he made contact, knocking his father down. Dean wiped blood out of his swelling eyes and looked around the room in despair.

“Sammy!” he croaked at sight of his now not so little brother, but even at 5”11 and sixteen years old Sam looked vulnerable, hand curled about his knees between the bed and the bookcase. Face blue and red with a beating no doubt served up by their father earlier today. In his hand Dean could see the tattered, stained pages of his most recent letter. 

“I-I-I’m so sorry, De.” Sam whimpered.

“Don’t be, kiddo.” Dean grinned, blood staining his teeth.

John was trying to get back on his feet, too liquored-up to manage to gather much purchase on the floor below. Dean almost found it impressive that the man had landed so many clean blows on Dean in the state he was in.

   Dean fumbled in his jacket pocket and threw his car keys at Sam.  “Get in the car and circle the block. Go Sam, NOW!”

Sam shook for a moment, staring at the keys between his socked feet.

“Sam!” Dean warned before Sam grabbed the keys and ran, narrowly avoiding a swipe from his father in an attempt to grab his ankle as he passed.

   Dean shot to Sam’s beside table to grab a few keepsakes. A watch from Uncle Bobby, a battered book and a shell he and Dean had picked up on a beach many years before. He shoved the trinkets deep into his pocket and walked over to his father. John was on his knees, swaying as he looked up at Dean with hate etched into the lines of his face.

“Want him to grow up to be just like you don't'cha?” John spat

“So long as he doesn’t end up like you, I don’t really care.” Dean shot back 

“There’s no place in this world for freaks like you.”

Dean's stomach knotted.

“Goodbye, Dad.” it was almost a whisper.

   Dean stepped over his father and walked from the room and down the hall to his old bedroom. The door was scratched, the wood fractured like it had been hit with a battering ram. Dean pushed it open and walked inside. The place was over turned. Bed flipped and drawers hanging out of the bureau.  He pulled the bed upright to retrieve a small amulet on a length of rope from the iron post. He held it in his palm, weighing the bronze with fondness. This has been a present from Bobby, left behind in the haste of the first ‘escape’ after the fight two years before. He slipped it over his head and tucked the metal into his shirt. He could hear John crashing around in the next room. Probably wrecking the place as he had done when Dean had run away.

Dean huffed and took one last long look around the room before closing the door behind himself. He was making his way down the stairs when he heard it. The shot, then the thud. Dean hesitated in disbelief.  A feeling in his throat like he was trying to swallow an ice cube whole. Dean's feet carried him without telling them to until he was in front of Sammy’s bedroom door once more. His father laid there much as he had been before. Only so silent and still. 1911 colt still in hand.

The police would later say that Dean placed the gun in Johns hand. The gunshot wound through the front of the head not in-keeping with suicide. People who commit suicide like to blow their brains out with the gun in their mouth or pressed flush against their temple. That said, most suicide victims aren’t spiteful enough to try and frame their sons. Dean would also be told that he killed his brother. After escaping a ‘difficult’ home he’d run away and schemed and plotted his revenge to return two years later to murder his father in cold blood. Dean had refused to tell anyone, even his lawyer what he had done with his brother’s body. The paper would write remarkable tales of its whereabouts. At the bottom of Wilson Lake, chopped up and hidden in the floors of their Lawrence family home or burned in the fields of his long since dead Uncle.

It just so happened that his brother's body was driving its way across the country. $400 cash in his pocket and a bronze amulet around his neck. To forever keep a promise to his older brother that he would make something of himself, to never come back and not to worry about Dean. The last part of the promise, Sam had already broken.

Dean shuffled uncomfortably on the mattress, thoughts disturbed by the footfalls of what he assumed to be a patrolling night guard. Benny was snoring gently in the bed beneath him. As Dean slowly drifted into a constantly disrupted sleep he thought about those two years on the run with Sammy, how they had been both the best and yet the worst years of his life.

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Cas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how long this took   
> Please comment  
> Also Yes, very annoying that due to the Prologue my chapters are out of sync according to Ao3  
> Sorryyyyyyyyyyyyy

 

 

 

 

 

_Castiel Novak_

Induction day and time to ‘make a scene **,** ’ as The Warden put it. The rest of the guards knew that Castiel took no shit, so did the veteran inmates, but the new guys always had to learn the hard way. Castiel knew there would be at least one smart ass among the ranks, there always was. It was Castiel’s job to break that son of a bitch in two for all to see. Make an example. He was Chief Guard of Kansas State Penitentiary. A job he had walked into and not earned, thanks to his father, The Warden. Castiel always thought he’d have rather worked his way up than be offered the role on a silver platter. Earning it had to be a hell of a lot easier than going through the motions now, having to prove himself to every damn guard in the place that felt they’d been screwed out of a job. Cas, as the other guards called him, had to toughen up quick. He had become the bastard no one thought he could ever be. Within his first two days on the job the guards watched Cas put down three guys alone in the yard. They’d each spent a month in the infirmary, Castiel walked away with no cut or bruise to be seen. No one ever found out what the trio did to deserve the beating. The same night Castiel had wept as he scrubbed the blood out of his clothes. Taps in the bathroom flowing full force to drown out the sobs. The last things Cas needed was his wife asking questions. The brutality of the job came easier now. He wasn’t unfair, but the guards talked among themselves and reckoned Cas to be quite the brute when it came to doling out punishment. That’s what it took to run a tight ship, so that’s what he did. If you toed the line, respected the staff, kept out of trouble **-** no trouble came to you. If you didn’t, the trouble rained down like a storm of shit, always served up by The Head Guard.

    Castiel flicked through the files that had landed on his desk the night before. Twenty-six new fish delivered to the pen. Only four first timers, three on a short stretch of time, one of them in for life. Cas weighed up the file for one Dean Winchester. Small file considering the charges printed in black ink on the front. _Double homicide_. ‘Guys gonna die here **.** ’ Castiel muttered under his breath as he flicked through the sparse pages. It didn’t make easy reading. Dean had a few priors as a minor, petty theft back in the 30’s and one case of grand theft auto. No charges were ever brought to the kid. Still young though, twenty-two years old, ‘Pissed down the drain **.** ’ Cas muttered to himself again. Castiel skimmed through the trial notes, minimal evidence, no witnesses thanks to the disappearance of the brother, though they managed to pin that ‘murder’ on Winchester somehow, shitty testimony from Dean himself, almost like he wanted to go to jail. Clearly his lawyer was a fucking dimwit. Castiel tutted to himself and threw the file on top of the others.

   Castiel looked around his office and thought offhandedly that he really needed to get a cleaner in here. There were files all over the floor and his desk was buried beneath reports so deeply and for so long he couldn’t even remember what wood it was made from. He stretched out and scratched the back of his neck as he let his thoughts wander to nothing-in-particular before there was a sharp knock on his door.

“Yes!” Castiel called out

Adam stuck his head around the door, not entering the office **.**

“New boys are cuffed and lined up for you, boss **.** ”

“I’ll be there soon **.** ”

Adam nodded quickly and left without another word. He was a jittery kid, young and always in a rush. The Milligan family were neighbours of Castiel’s and Adam was their youngest child. He’d been hired as a guard, but at just seventeen, Castiel had taken it easy on him. He worked on a guard’s wage but had become more of an assistant to Castiel. File managing and fetching coffee. Cas didn’t really know how he had ever done without him.

Castiel stood and pulled his work belt from the hooks on the wall next to his overflowing filing cabinet. Strapping it tightly around his waist, securing his baton and gun and tucking in his shirt. He kicked aside a pile of papers as he pulled open the door and set off to greet the new inmates.

                

 

They were a sorry looking bunch. Castiel picked Dean Winchester out of the crowd easily, he stood tall but didn’t make eye contact with Castiel or anyone else in the room. Castiel paced up and down the line. He did this every time. Three trips before he stopped in the centre of the room to speak. The speech itself? Well every guard in Kansas Pen could recite it by heart if you asked them to.

“Good Morning, gentlemen. Welcome to Kansas State Penitentiary. I am Castiel Novak, Chief Guard. Take a good look at the faces behind me. You fuck up and they’re going to be the last faces you see before you wake up in the infirmary. You will drag your asses up when the bell calls at 7am. At 7:15 the doors to your cells will open. You will stand for role call. Breakfast is from 7:30 until 8:00 sharp. You’ll shower. Then you will work, and you will work hard for me.”

A snort of derision from the line

Castiel recognised him. Ash was his name. Must be at least his third run here in K Pen. Lanky kid with the worst barber-job Cas had ever seen.  Cas went to him. The noise of his boots filling the room, one of the guards looked away.

“Amused?” Castiel hissed at him

Ash shrugged nonchalantly and smiled down at Castiel. He was at least a head taller than Cas himself. 

Castiel cocked his head slightly, tension in the room palpable. As Cas made a move to walk away Ash muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.

“Fucking fag **.** ”

Everything moved far too quickly for the other guards to make out exactly what happened, but Ash was on the ground clutching his stomach and screaming in pain. Castiel stood over him, baton in hand, face blank and cold as he spoke over the yells of Ash’s agony.

“As you can see, try and pull any shit and punishment will be served. Wise up quick and work – there won’t be any problems. Talk back or fuck with me or my men and end up like this fuck stain here!” **H** e kicked Ash to punctuate the end of his sentence. “Take him to the infirmary **!** ” Cas spat.

Adam and Kevin ran forward to uncuff Ash and remove him from the line. The force of Ash’s drop had pulled Dean almost to his knees as well as the guy to Ash’s right. Castiel walked forward, and with a fistful of Dean’s collar he pulled him from the floor and back to his feet. Deans eyes flickered to meet Cas’, they held each other’s gaze for a long moment before Castiel released him and stepped back to his original spot in front of the middle of the line.

Castiel assigned duties to the prisoners quickly and left without another word. Leaving his team to remove the inmates’ cuffs and return them to their cells.

Castiel promptly returned to his office, stepped over the scattered documents on the floor and collapsed into his chair. He pulled a cigarette from the packet with his teeth and lit it before he dragged The Winchester file back in front of him and read it thoroughly this time, cover to cover. Staring intensely at the black and white mug shot that had been tucked into the back. Taking in the taught cheekbones and messy hair. Dean lips were thin in the picture, not plump and shiny like they were in real life. Cas shoved the picture and the file into his drawer instead of back onto the teetering pile. His stomach began to churn with a feeling he couldn’t name. Cas smoothed his fingers through his hair and grabbed his diary. He needed to be in B block at noon.

   Dean had been assigned scrubbing duties on B block; this mainly comprised of cleaning the floors by hand with wooden brushes and bleach.  A duty Cas himself would be over-seeing this afternoon due to staffing problems. Castiel would size this Winchester kid up then. He decided not to dwell for too long on why he was so interested in the man or on the knots in his stomach.

   There was a knock on the door and Adam craned his neck round once more.

“Your wife is on the telephone for you, Sir.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’ll be out in just a moment.”

“Yes, Sir.”

And with that he was gone, door closing softly behind him.

Castiel stubbed out his third cigarette in the ashtray and straightened his ever-crooked tie before heading, begrudgingly, to the front desk where the telephone was. The receiver was on its side on the desk, he picked it up.

“Meg, hello **.** ”

“Hey, sweetie. I just wanted to know when you’d be home tonight? I’ve invited the Milligan’s over for some dinner and I’m baking corn bread for you.”

“That’s nice **.** ” Castiel murmured down the line “I’m not sure right now, you know I’m low on men here.”

“But I haven’t seen you in two nights…”

It was true. Castiel had been sleeping in his office more regularly of late. He had convinced his wife (and himself) it was out of necessity and convenience when really, he just didn’t want to go home.

“…our bed is lonely without you here. I’m lonely without you here, Castiel.” Meg drawled, Cas knew she was trying to sound becoming.

“I’m sorry Megan, I have to go. Please send the Milligan’s my apologies **.** ” He clicked the receiver down onto its holder.

Meg had become more and more insistent over the past few months. They had been married for five years and her parents were pressuring her as to why she and Castiel had not yet had a child. She was trying hard to use that pressure against Castiel. To try pull him under the covers and into something he knew he could not escape from. Something he didn’t want. Not with Meg. Not with any woman. He knew the constant press of parental demand. His own had pushed him into his marriage with Meg. The pretty pastor’s daughter. Castiel has buckled and agreed. Meg was sweet and caring and loved Castiel. Castiel wished he could love her, he really did. He wished he could go home tonight and make love to her with his eyes open and feel her body and give her what she wanted and needed from him. He could not. The last time he and Meg had more than just shared their bed Castiel couldn’t even come. He had laid there as she pressed and writhed against him. Whispering things that no pastor’s daughter should ever say. Castiel had feigned an ache of some sort and quickly fled to the den and slept on the couch in solitude. She had only tried once more since, Cas didn’t even get hard. Meg had insisted he see the doctor but Castiel knew that, medically, there was nothing wrong with him. Though Castiel would not act on the truth. A life of secrecy was safer than any life that truth could bring him.

   With that thought Castiel checked his watch to realise it was creeping towards noon and B block was on the other side of the prison. He adjusted his tie again and headed off through the corridors and hoped he would be greeted by one of young Adam’s fantastic cups of coffee.

   He nodded his way politely past every guard he passed. Emerging five minutes later through the large gates of B block just as Adam and Jack, another of the young trainee guards were uncuffing the four inmates that had been assigned scrubbing duty. Each given a bleach filled metal bucket and a worn brush to work with. B block was mainly used now as a filing room. It used to be a minimum-security wing of the prison but was no longer used as such. The twenty cells that flanked the slim corridor were open and empty. The block itself as hot and humid and the dusty yard. Cas pulled a little at his collar as he thanked Adam for his mug of joe. Taking a small sip before speaking to the inmates. Directing three of them to the floors of the abandoned cells and “Winchester **-** start here boy **!** ”

   They did as directed. Once the wet sound of brushes against linoleum echoed off the walls of B block Castiel ushered Adam and Jack out with a wave of his hand. They had other things to attend to and Cas hurried them off. Once they were gone Castiel fetched himself the only chair from the small office and placed it against the locked gates of the block and took a seat, sipping his cooling coffee and ensuring his four were quiet and working.

Dean was about ten feet from Castiel’s boots. Concentrated on the crisp slide of his bleach-soaked brush. Button down open and the hems of it were trailing in the bleach on the floor. Castiel watched as sweat pooled in the dips of Dean’s collar bone, rivulets travelling down his neck and chest until they disappeared in the white t-shirt he wore. Castiel cleared his throat uncomfortably and Dean’s head shot up to look at him. Bottom lip between white teeth. For a second Castiel thought Dean was going to smile at him, but he just dipped his brush in the bucket again, gripped it in both hands and continued to work. Castiel downed the last dregs of his coffee and reached into his pocket to pull out a fresh pack of smokes and a book of matches. Dean looked up again at the sound of the match striking. He held his gaze with Cas longer this time, arms still moving against the floor, keeping a steady rhythm as Cas took a deep drag and blew smoke towards the man kneeling on the floor before him. Dean continued to stare.

“Missing smokes?”

Dean’s eyes widened a little, but he nodded.

Castiel didn’t think about why or what he was doing before pulling the cigarettes back from his pocket and holding them open in Dean direction. He cast a quick look around the block, all the other prisoners were busy in their respective cells.

“They’re not gonna bite you, boy **.** ” He shook the pack **.**

Dean stood and dropped his brush into the bucket with a plop. A few sure strides and Dean was plucking a tab from the pack and allowing Cas to strike up another match and light it for him. Castiel had to supress a smirk as Dean’s eyes closed in bliss and his head fell back slightly as he blew the first lungful of smoke to the ceiling.

“Fuuuuuuck **...** ” Dean breathed out with another cloud.

“You’d better watch that mouth **.** ”

Dean shot Castiel a look at that. An eyebrow cocked and a faint grin on his lips

“Sorry, _Boss **.**_ ”

Cas nodded his acceptance before enjoying another drag of his own butt.

“I read your file. Quite the tale **.** ”

Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly. “So they tell me **.** ”

“I figure we need to keep quite the eye on you, Winchester. Am I right?”

Dean took another slow drag, clearly savouring the taste. “Make of me what you will, Chief. I wouldn’t hold it against you if you think you need to keep a close eye on little old me **.** ” His lips closed into a pout and there was a shine to his green eyes as he spoke. Castiel fumbled for a moment and took a steadying final pull from his smoke before dropping it and stomping it out with the heel of his boot.

“I will take that a yes **?** ”

Dean smiled a little and shrugged before bending low, Cas could feel the prisoner’s breath against his knees as Dean scooped up Cas’ tab and flicked it effortlessly into the bucket. Pulling the last few drags out of his own and giving it the same treatment.

“Thanks for the smoke, boss **.** ”

Cas jerked his head.

“Mind if I take this damn shirt off? It’s gotta be pushing 95 in here **.** ”

Cas nodded again and watched Dean pull his damp button down off and laid it at Cas’ feet. The white cotton of his shirt was stretched tightly around Deans biceps and Cas noticed, as Dean turned, it was all but transparent with sweat at the back. Castiel shifted uneasily in his chair. One of the other inmates shuffled from one cell to the next so quietly that Cas barely noticed. Dean was back on his hands and knees now, brushing hard and fast at the floor beneath him. Cas never looked away.

   Three hours later Adam and Jack returned to collect Dean and the others. While they went to the cells Castiel stood and quickly slipped his half-smoked pack of cigarettes into Deans jeans pocket before leaving without another word.

Cas didn’t remember the walk back. All he saw was taught tanned muscles dripping and flexing. Green eyes. Pink lips wrapping around cigarettes…wrapping around…

“Christ!”

Castiel slammed his office door closed and palmed his fast-growing erection through his black slacks. Allowing his head to crash against the closed-door, Cas undid his belt and shucked his pants to his knees, before taking himself in hand. Pumping once **,** then twice more to ease the tension before thumping his head against the door once again in frustration. Cas managed to compose himself long enough to twist the door-lock shut before slipping his thumb under the head of his cock, whimpering quietly, whispering a name. Begging. Pleading. Desperate for release but holding it just out of his own reach. His cock slick and shining in his fist as he worked himself over, edging his way towards completion. In the final moments before the world narrowed itself down to nothing but bright white and darkest black all Castiel could think of was tanned calloused hands rough against his back and hips, pressing him down until stars swam in front of his eyes and he sobbed out his release gasping one word.

“ _Dean **.**_ ”

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

  


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tries to acclimate to prison life, but he just can't stop thinking of a certain dark haired, blue eyes guard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please leave comments and kudos.

 

 

 

_Dean Winchester_

   “So, what’s the deal with that Novak guy anyway?” Dean enquired as Benny stripped methodically from his sweaty clothes. A day in the furnace had left him almost black with soot and grease. Back in their cell it wasn’t much cooler.

“The Chief? He’s a real hard nut **.** ” Benny crowded against Dean and tilted his head back as far as it would go, revealing a thick white and red scar under his chin. “Did tha’ to me my third week here **.** ” he grumbled before stripping off his pants and heading to the sink. “Doesn’t take no shit **,** I can say that much. He don’t take to kindly to back talk neither. That’s what I got the hitting stick for, and I tell you now you don’t want to be on the blunt end of that fuck’en thing **.** ” He turned on the taps and scooped water with his hands to douse his face and neck rubbing off the dirt and debris of his days labour.

   Dean thumbed over the smokes in his front pocket, taking a long moment to think until Benny stood upright and shook himself like a dog before speaking again. “Warden’s his Daddy **.** ” Benny grunted, wiping his dripping face with his filthy shirt before tossing it back onto his bunk. “Gave The Chief his job when he w’just a twenty-somethin’. Youngest Head Guard in the history of Kansas Pen, y’know. The other guards didn’t like it though, oh no.” Benny chuckled “Got a lot o’ shit in his first couple o’ days on the job. That stopped soon enough though...” Benny silenced and pulled on a fresh pair of blue-jeans. Dean noticed Benny’s large frame was littered with many scars akin to the one marking his chin. He looked as though he was knitted together. His body clearly a constellation of every walk of life he had taken. Without asking, Dean knew that Benny’s days had been arduous ones.

   “So, Novak proved to the other guards that he was up to the job by beating around folk like you?” Dean asked, pulling his own shirt over his head and tossing it to join Benny’s discarded one on the bottom bunk.

“Something like that **.** ” Benny mused “Chief dropped some guys in the yard on his first week. Three big black bruisers that were talking shit at him through the fences, and The Chief? Well he just unlocked them gates and gave it to ‘em. Never seen a guy go off like he did. Seriously, brother…devil was in that man that day. He beat ‘em and he beat ‘em hard.”

“Yeah…I saw a bit of that this morning” Dean replied when Benny stopped to unfold a new shirt.

“Tall skinny guy?” Benny grinned

“Yeah, how’d you…”

“Ash… Stupid fucker he knows better.” Benny buttoned up his shirt to the neck despite the sweltering heat of the cell. “Guys done enough time here to have a block named after him, I tell ‘ya **.** ” Benny laughed at his own joke, and so did Dean.

“Wha’ did he say to The Boss to get the stick?”

“Called him a fag **.** ” Dean suppressed the growl that threatened to follow.

“Yeah he don’t like that shit **.** ” Benny pondered “Them black fella’s be saying somethin’ like that th’day Novak smacked ‘em down **.** ”

Dean nodded **.**

“Like I said **,** ” Benny continued “Mouth off and Chief’ll get ya **.** ”

   Dean nodded his understanding again and pulled on his own new shirt, leaving it open over his t-shirt as he had done before. Soon they’d have an hour in the yard before they were fed again. Dean looked forward to the feel of the sun beating down on him despite the stifling heat, he longed for the dry warmth against his skin. He rolled up his shirt sleeves in anticipation.

“Why so interested anyways?” Benny pushed.

“Huh?” Dean puttered eloquently. “Oh, I dunno, man. Just curious I guess. Guy makes a big show of it like Novak did and you gotta ask some questions, you know?” Dean rushed out with a shrug of feigned disinterest. Dean knew that Benny was a little simple, no way he was going to catch on to Dean’s real interest in The Guard and there was probably no need to disguise his attentiveness so desperately. He relaxed a little and leaned against the bunk. 

    He thought about his afternoon in B Block with Novak. The long hard stares and the cigarettes and the demeanour that was so different to the one he had seen first thing this morning in the hall, or of that described by Benny. There was a violence to him, as there was in Dean himself. Needed, necessary violence. Dean had used his to protect his brother and Castiel used it to protect his job, and more importantly and most likely, his secret.

   Dean knew when a guy was covering up. Christ, he’d done it himself his entire life. Apart from with Sammy. Sammy knew it all. Castiel Novak wasn’t quite the bad-ass this prison thought him to be though, Dean knew that much. It was a damn good façade, just not good enough to fool a Winchester. Dean smiled to himself a little as he thought of Castiel. All big man- stick a’ swingin’, but Dean knew it wouldn’t take much to push him to meet the little bitch he really was under that uniform and his ‘hit first ask questions later’ attitude. Not that he’d ever get the opportunity, but the thought of scrubbing duties in front of Guard Novak for the rest of the week left Dean a good chance to drive that guy out of his mind at least. A good chance to see how far he could push his cigarette-giving generosity. Dean wondered if he was a loner, deflecting the questions from family and colleagues about his lack of relationships. Crawling into a single bed every night to take himself in hand and think about all the dirty things he’d never let himself do. Or was he married?  Heading home after a long day’s work to his little wife, clamping his eyes shut as he fucked into her and imagining he were somewhere else. Somewhere else with someone who looked a hell of a lot more like Dean than his own girl. Dean smirked again at his own thoughts. Dean knew it was better to push those musings to the back of his mind, thoughts like that could really screw him in a place like this, even a first timer like him knew that. The images didn’t stop swimming in front of his eyes though. Thoughts of bending the prisons head honcho over right in the main hall, spanking the little slut and whispering dirty words into his ear until he’d beg Dean through broken, pleading sobs, to just take him there in front of everyone.

   The sound of the cell doors opening was enough to shake Dean of his thoughts and allow him to follow Benny out onto the gantry, down the steps and out into the yard. Dean wasn’t disappointed by the sheer strength of the Kansas sun that beat down on them that afternoon. His arms and the back of his neck instantly beginning to tingle under the warmth of it. They trudged out amongst the hordes of other prisoners until groups of them began to peel away to join with their comrades.

   Guards were stationed around the yard in tall towers. Each with a rifle in hand, pointing over the heads of every inmate from every side. They were ready. Dean spared them the quickest of glances before continuing to follow Benny to the benches set up against the rear fence. There waited two men, who greeted Benny and barely acknowledge Deans presence.  A black man was addressed as ‘Rufus’ by Benny. He was older than Dean and the rest of the group, in his fifties at least, Dean thought. Rufus and Benny exchanged cigarettes and gum for various bets each had in place while Dean gazed around the yard. There were at least a hundred inmates out. Most of them trying to keep to the sparse shield of shade cast out by the main cell block. Some playing cards, kneeling on the dusty ground, others grappling over what Dean supposed to be a football. Most looked well acclimated to their surroundings. Like they were all out for in a day in the park to see their friends and enjoy a good conversation and a cigarette under a blue, cloudless sky. Dean pulled his own cigarettes from his jeans pocket, and, in an act of solidarity, offered them around the group. Benny declining politely but Rufus and the other accepting tentatively and each pulling a smoke from the pack with a grateful look up at Dean. Once both were alight and puffing away they offered their hands, in turn, to Dean in greeting.

“Rufus Turner **.** ” Rufus spoke around the tab in his mouth **.**

Dean reached out to grasp the others hand “Arthur Ketch. Just call me Ketch, please **.** ” He spoke with English accent that Dean did not expect.

“Dean Winchester **.** ” he affirmed. They both nodded. They already knew.

“Where the hell did you get smokes from on your second day here?” Rufus asked with a wide grin that could set even Dean at ease.

“I got my ways”

Benny laughed.

“Make the most of them **.** ” Ketch interjected “Contraband. Warden don’t like it. That means Boss Novak don’t like it neither **.** ”

“Novak’s a sure smoker **.** ” Dean pointed out with a small scowl.

“Oh Yeah!” laughed Rufus “Thirty a day habit but thanks to the cofiscatin’ and ain’t picked up a pack from a convenience store himself in four years **.** ”

The men roared with laughter and Dean lit up his own cigarette, flicking ash to the floor and kicking it in amongst the dust absent-mindedly with his boot. The men talked between themselves for a spell while Dean smoked. Sharing their grumbles of the works assigned this week and of the heat. Benny engaged the group in an emphatic tale of his day in the furnace, gesturing wildly with his hands and keeping the group laughing heartily. Dean closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sun **,** enjoying the sound of their howling happiness.

   By the time the bell rang, and the prisoners were called back into the cell block even Dean’s tanned skin had started to char pink from the weather. He followed in with Benny and watched Ketch and Rufus disappear into the crowd. Through the fences Dean caught sight of blue eyes and black hair, those of Castiel Novak. Castiel was talking to one of the young guards, but watching Dean, squinting slightly against the light. He really was beautiful. Castiel’s hair, that this morning had been neatly combed back was now messy and tousled, Castiel clearly spent too much time running his fingers through it when he was nervous or stressed. Dean had seen that himself first hand during their encounter in B block. His eyes were the azure of the ocean, with a sadness in them that Dean just knew he could erase. His uniform was neatly pressed. Almost in a contrast to his dishevelled hair and the scruff that adorned his chin and cheeks. Black slacks and a perfectly ironed crisp, white shirt that was tucked into them. Then a blue tie, crooked and flopping backwards, clearly put on haphazardly this morning and Castiel just hadn’t bothered to right it. It made Dean smile despite himself.

   Dean was once again lost in thoughts of The Head Guard that were quickly becoming more and more indecent before he was distracted and pulled from them by a disturbance beside him. He turned to find Benny, clearly squaring up to another inmate. Dean recognised the man as one from his induction that morning. Nick was his name. A rough looking guy. They were arguing in vicious, hushed tones.

“Told you I’d be back you stupid motherfucker. Heard you and my little brother had quite the slugging match while I was away. Somehow a thick fucker like you got the upper hand, huh?” Nick pushed against Benny with his shoulder, but Benny’s large frame didn’t budge.

“Little bro spent a week in the infirmary because of you.”

   Dean could see a group forming. Most of them stood around Nick, Dean rearranged himself behind Benny to at least show some sort of allegiance, as that is how things seemed to work in here.

Benny growled “That’s because Gabe was tryin’t start a fight with every black guy in K Pen. He made a mistake comin’ for Rufus **.** ”

   Nick hissed and began to circle around Benny once more. Clenched fists and set jaws. Guards were watching from the towers. Dean couldn’t see Castiel through the fence any more.

“Come on, guys let’s leave this.” Dean interrupted

“Stay out of this, brother **.** ”

“No **.** ”

“Big guys right, kiddo. No room for heroes here. Let him take his beating like a man. He knew it was coming.”

   Nick stepped forward and swung, hitting Benny with a wet sound in the centre of his face. He didn’t drop. Just threw his own fist back to meet Nick. Before it could be processed Nick’s men joined the fray as well. Dean made a short sprint to grab Nick by his throat, pulling him away from Benny and he used his full weight to slam him to the ground. Another had tackled Benny but still not shifted the huge man, he just continued to swing his fists, most of the swings making their contact. Nick spat up into Deans face. Dean hit him, hard. Knee in Nick’s stomach he pressed down. Kicking out with his free leg at a guy trying to drag Dean off him. He threw another punch that made Nick's face snap to the left, his lip burst under Dean’s knuckles. Nick’s fist came up to box Dean’s cheek bone with a crunch. Dean pinned his arms down with his left hand and grabbed Nick by the hair with the right and slammed his head into the dusty ground until he stopped struggling beneath him. There was chaos around him. Flat sounds of fists pummelling into bodies and dirty grunt of trapped and hurting men. Dean stood and was immediately knocked to the floor again by the weight of another man. Dean rolled before he could be gripped by the inmate, rising quickly to elbow the kneeling man so his face fell into the dirt. Then there was a sharp pain and a crack in his spine, knocking the wind out of Dean he gasped for breath. It was the young guard. Dean held his hands up in surrender to him. No way he was dragging the kid into this.

“Hold him there, Jack!” It was Castiel.

   Dean whipped his head around to find his cell mate on the ground, The Chief Guards foot on the ball of Benny’s spine to keep him down.

   Jack took hold of the back of Dean's collar. Dean knelt still, huffing in shallow breaths, desperately trying to regulate his breathing. Dean could have over-powered the kid if he needed to. Jack shot wide-eyed look to the seemingly lifeless Nick laid just feet away.

“Unconscious **.** ” Dean gasped “Not dead **.** ”

   Dean looked over at Castiel again. He was mid swing of his baton to effortlessly take down one of Nick's renegades, still stood astride Benny’s shoulder blades.

Castiel looked to the spectators. “Back to your cells!” he roared.

“This is your second incident, Lafitte.” Castiel addressed Benny now who grunted beneath him. “That means its solitary for you. ONE WEEK!” Benny flailed at that. “Buck like a mule again and I’ll double it **.** ” Benny stilled under Castiel’s boots.

“It was Nick!” Dean wheezed, trying to turn to face The Guard. “Benny was just-”

“Another word Winchester and I’ll have Jack knock them straight out of your mouth alongside your teeth.”

Dean gaped up at him then stared desperately at Benny who just shook his head.

“Take him inside and wait for me.” Castiel ordered of Jack, who pulled Dean up roughly by the scruff of his neck and pushed him forward towards the open doors.

Dean swung round as he walked to see Benny being pulled away by two other guards. Castiel lit up a cigarette just as Dean was shoved over the threshold of the main cell block. He was led past the cells themselves and through towards the main offices he saw when he arrived. He was marched past the front desk and down a small corridor and forced down harshly into a rickety wooden chair outside an office door. On it was a gold plaque in need of a buffing.

_Castiel J Novak_

_Chief of the Guards_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel finally get some alone time. Dean's gonna use that to his advantage.

_Castiel Novak_

   Castiel crouched down at Benny’s side. Boots scraping through the gravel as he bent down to blow smoke directly into The Prisoners open eyes. Benny was being held down with a firm hand by Kevin. Cas kicked dirt into Benny’s face and watched him choke. “It’s one thing to be stating shit in my yard, Lafitte. But dragging the children into it isn’t nice.” Cas quipped, all sarcasm and irritation.

   He stood and stomped over to Nick who had begun to regain consciousness and was groaning and writhing against the dry dirt. His eyes already swelling, blood coating his cheeks and chin, nose clearly broken. Cas dropped again and pressed his face into Nick’s. “And you!” He hissed “You fucking piece of shit! You really let Winchester pull a number on your face, didn’t you?” He chucked darkly against Nicks ear as he whined incoherently. He stood straight and served a sharp kick to Nick’s gut. “Solitary, one God damn month!” he roared.

   The guards hurried past him to cuff Nick and drag him through the yard towards the solitary cells at the east border of the prison. It was a dark place there. The cells themselves not big enough to stand up straight or lay flat in. No windows, just the dull, grey cement suffocating you in nothing. Insufferably hot in the summer and bitingly cold in the winter. One was still fed and watered twice a day, but that was all. Castiel had never assigned any prisoner to more than a fortnight in the hole before. A month with the rats, away from the light was simply unheard of at Kansas State.

   Castiel turned away from Nick and the guards and returned to the main cell block to deal with Winchester. As he strode across the blistering yard he had to wonder what the hell he was doing with Dean. He hadn’t had a prisoner in his office in the whole four-year duration of his employment. He wondered if it looked suspicious to his other guards. No. He was the boss, he could deal with his prisoners as he saw fit, and Dean was just another prisoner. He would tell the others that given Deans extensive sentence to be served here he wanted to have a one on one talk with the man to set him straight. Getting him back on track, that’s what he’d say if asked. Not that any of his men often questioned his actions. He stepped into the main building and was grateful for the slight relief from the heat outside. Castiel thought of the fight. The way Dean had thrown himself straight into it and managed to overpower Nick, a man that the other inmates had affectionately nick-named ‘Lucifer’ given his penchant for violence and pain, both inside and out of these prison walls. Cas had seen Nick in a lot of scraps during his multiple terms here in K Pen and until now, never seen him come out anything but the victor. Dean had just taken him down. Castiel knew Dean was strong. He could easily overpower him, alone in Cas’ office, pin him down, subject him to anything he wanted. Castiel physically shook himself of those notions. Dean was a convicted murderer. He could kill Cas. He tried to convince himself of that as he rounded the corner to his office, but he just couldn’t. There was a lot of shit in Dean’s past, a lot of violence, anger, loss, but Castiel just couldn’t see a killer in him.

   Jack and Dean waited for Cas, in silence outside his office. As Cas approached Jack stood up straight in a respectful manner that Castiel appreciated. His eyes fell on Dean who was glaring up at him from his seat. Green eyes aflame, it made the hairs on the back of Cas’ neck twitch.

“Thank you, Jack. That will be all.”

Jack shot an incredulous look between his Boss and the prisoner. “What? You want go in _there_ , alone, with _him?_ ” he jerked his thumb at the office door then at Dean.

“Yes” Cas stated simply.

Jack knew it was a futile gesture to protest. Instead, he threw a final filthy look at Winchester before turning on his heel and stalking off down the corridor.

“In!” Cas barked, pointing at the office and Dean complied. Dragging his feet like a scalded child on his way in. Cas sealed the room behind him. “Take a seat Mr Winchester.”

   Dean dropped sullenly into a chair and Castiel stepped over a pile of papers and took his place at the other side of the desk. Deans face was cut up high on his cheek and was bleeding. Cas grabbed a rag from the shelf beside him and tossed it to Dean.

“Clean yourself up.”

Dean spat into the rag and wiped it over the gash on his face with a hiss.

“You’ve been here with us one day. One fucking day, Dean!”

“Yeah.” Dean chuckled bitterly.

“This behaviour is unacceptable in my prison. You will conduct yourself in a manner more befitting to this institution.”

Dean laughed again. “What? Act more like them murderers and rapist and cons out there?”

“If you recall Mr Winchester, that, out there, is the company a jury decided you should keep.” Cas answered calmly.

Dean snorted, and Cas continued. “I told you, and the others just this morning that there are two types of time you can do here. My time or hard time. It’s up to you.”

Dean grinned again, it made Cas uneasy.

“Depends what you mean by _hard_ time, Chief.”

Cas ignored him. Dean was clearly unphased by him. Castiel had to stop himself from shrinking back in his chair under Dean’s unforgiving gaze. He stood, trying to take control, but his knees shook as he took his steps.

“You should show me some respect.” He let his fingertips trail over the handle of his baton and watched Deans eyes flicker between it and his own.

“Gonna beat me down like you do the others?” Dean slid from his chair to stand and face Castiel. Chests almost brushing. “They might not be able to see through this little act of yours, Boss, but I do. _I know_.”

   Cas hit him before he could think of a retort. Dean stumbled back with the force of it but righted himself quickly. “That’s it, make yourself feel just a little bit better.” Cas struck him again, more of a slap this time across Dean’s bleeding cheek.

   Dean stepped forward once more. Castiel refused to back away but looked at his shoes. “You been making them eyes at me all day. You think I’m not gonna notice it?”

Cas tried to throw another punch, but Dean caught his wrist easily before it could land.

“I-” Castel stuttered.

“Shut up!”

   Castiel clasped his lips closed at Dean order. His stomach churning sickeningly inside him as he tried to think of something, anything, to say. What a mistake to bring Dean here. How could be so stupid? Everything was ruined. He could try to gain the upper hand with him now. Strike him unconscious, pack his shit and run before Dean could wake and tell the entire prison that Cas was a disgusting freak who watched over his male prisoners with a lascivious eye.

   Castiel braced himself on the desks edge as Dean crowded closer, trailing his smooth lips over the shell of Castiel’s ear, gooseflesh tracking its way down Cas neck and arms as Dean whispered to him.

“Relax, darlin’. I’m not gonna tell.”

Cas huffed out a small hysterical laugh at that. If Dean wasn’t going to run through the corridors screaming of Castiel’s illicit yearnings he would use it against him. Dean would blackmail him, use him to get an easy ride here on the inside, and he’d managed it all within his first day. Castiel swore under his breath making Dean laugh against his ear.

“You’d better watch that mouth.” Dean sniggered, using Castiel’s earlier comment against him as he pressed him harder against the desk. “What do you really want to be doing with that mouth, huh?” Dean bit gently at Castiel’s ear lobe to make him gasp. “Christ, I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout that mouth of yours all day.”

   Castiel shuddered beneath the prisoner as he spoke to him. Was this a joke? Surely Dean was screwing with him, the kind of guy who would do anything to win. That’s the man he saw in the yard earlier. That’s the man who was here in his office with him right now. The kind of man that was just desperate to be the dominant of any situation, willing to exploit or hurt anyone to succeed at whatever he put his mind to, and this time he’d set his mind to immediately breaking Cas to allow him a simple stretch here.

“Dean, I – I need you to – to step away from me.” Cas’ voice was shaking as noticeably as his knees were.  Dean breathed against his ear again, Cas could hear his tongue running over his teeth but Dean didn’t back off. Just slid his leg a little higher between Castiel’s thighs.

“I’m not nearly done yet, Novak. Don’t you want to hear about my little daydreams?”

“No”

“I promise you’ll like ‘em”

Cas lifted his arms to push Dean away, but Dean took them both in hand and pushed them back against the biting edge of the desk with little resistance.

“Shhhh. You see, I been thinking ‘bout you, and your mouth. Been thinking you got a real dirty mouth on you. Always cussing and yelling. I’m betting when you get bent over and fucked into you beg for it just as nastily, am I right?”

Cas shook his head

“Is that a no cause I’m wrong?” Dean paused and leant impossibly closer to Cas’ face. “Or because you don’t know? You never felt it before? You never had a man force you over this desk of yours and make you just lay there and take it?”

Castiel shook his head again helplessly.

“Oh baby, you’d beg like a whore for it, I can tell. Strong hands on your shoulders, holding you down. Spanking that pretty little ass of your until you scream. All you need is someone to show you your place. Must be hard for you here, having to be the big man. Taking control of all these people every day when you’re just so desperate to be controlled, to let something be out of your hands for a change. Right under Daddy Wardens nose too. Something tells me the thought of that gets you off, yeah? Having the chance to get screwed and screw your Daddy and this place right back while you were at it.”

   Cas could feel the tears in his eyes. Dean was a sick fuck. He wanted to scream and hit and kick until Dean would just leave him be. Leave him alone on his office with his nasty jack-off fantasies and his well-kept secrets, his well-paid job and shitty marriage. Everything here before him had happened too fast for him to even process it. Just hours ago, he was watching Dean scrub floors on his order and now he was shrinking under the man as he shamed him for his secrets. Sweat slid down Cas’ neck as he swallowed pointlessly around the chunk of nothingness in his throat.

“Tell me I’m wrong, Cas.” It was the first time Dean had ever called him that and it made him whine stupidly.

   Dean finally backed away from him. Cas shivered at the cool air that breezed in around him in place of Dean’s body. Cas’ mouth was dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of it every time he tried to speak. Truthfully, if he could talk he had no idea what he would say. There was nothing to be said.  Castiel had two choices if words were to stop failing him. He could deny all of Deans remarks. All the points that were so on the mark it was like Dean had read cover to cover the diary Cas didn’t even own. Or he could agree, cry into Dean’s prison uniform and beg him to hold him and tell him everything would be okay cause Dean understood, Dean would never tell, Dean would be there for him. Both options seemed ridiculous and he would have no part in either of them if he could help it. He was ashamed, his cheeks were flushed with the feeling. Cas tried to grapple with the idea that Dean had seen through him within just a few hours of meeting. After years and years here he was, bare and revealed, in front of his own prisoner no less. He needed to take this moment back as his own. Find the words to not just make Dean leave but make him leave in silence. He struggled for the words, tried to knit them together inside his head so he could stammer them out of his sandy mouth.  Then, Dean approached him once more. Castiel didn’t want to think about the look in his prisoner’s eyes. It was the look he knew but had never truly seen, even from his own wife. Purest want and dirtiest hunger.

“Trying to think of something to say? Been there myself, I know it can shock the shit out of the toughest guy.”

“How-how did you know?”

   Dean smiled fondly. “I’d like t’say it ‘cause I ‘just know things’, but really, the way you been looking at me? You made it pretty hard to ignore. Another guy might not see it, but being me, I just knew. I got an inkling for these sortsa things too, could sense it on you a mile away.”

“So, no one…”

“No one else knows, no. Not as far as I’m aware. No one said nothing to me, if that’s what you mean. Your secrets safe, chief.”

Cas let go a breath he didn’t know was trapped in his lungs in a strange sort of relief. So, there wasn’t a talk of him around the prison…yet.

“You married?”

   Castiel gawped slightly at the question. Somehow, they’d gone from Dean simpering filth into Cas’ ear, now they were getting to know each other like new friends. Castiel really couldn’t get a grip on any of this this. He replied “Yes, for five years now”

“Wow, that must be tough”

“At times, yes”

“At times?” Dean stifled a laugh. “You trying to tell me that there’s been a single second in that marriage that hasn’t been a struggle, a lie or an excuse?”

Cas winced and shook his head finally pulling some words together.

“What is happening here, Dean?”

   Deans smile widened, he closed the last few inches between them to take his spot in front of Cas, worming his knee between Cas’ legs once more. “What do you think?”

“I think your testing my patience.”

   Dean really laughed at that. “It’s not that…I am testing you though. I wanted…needed to know for sure, needed to know…” he trailed off, seemingly much more interested in pushing Castiel harder than ever against the heavily cluttered desk.

“And now you do.” Cas finished for him. Dean lips were against his neck now, feeling like they were singeing the fragile skin of his throat with the sheer heat and intensity of them.

“But now, Chief, well, we seem to have reached a bit of a stalemate. I mean, what on earth are we gonna do now?” Dean murmured huskily.

“Now?” Cas choked out “Now you leave, Dean.”

“Nuh-uh. That’s not really how you want this little tryst to end, is it?”

   Dean ran his hand, slowly, up the inside of Castiel’s right thigh until he stilled over the hard length that was pushing against the straining buttons of his slacks. Dean squeezed lightly, causing Cas to buck his hips up unwillingly and mewl through gritted teeth. He knew he needed to stop this now. The two of them had been locked away in his office for a long while. Someone was bound to come knocking on the unlocked door soon to check that Castiel was alright.  Dean had to have had his fun by now, surely? Clearly not enough fun judging by the way Dean was palming over Cas’ cock. Castiel was desperate, whining beneath his prisoner’s attention. Dean has started to nibble at Cas’ jawline. An affectionate exploitation of his vulnerable position. Dean made his way to Cas’ adam’s-apple and up under chin, playfully nipping and licking his way up to his lips. Cas pulled away with a sudden jerk.

   Dean looked crestfallen, but just for a moment until he plastered his shit-eating grin back over his face. “What wrong, darlin’? You not wanna kiss me?”

   Castiel couldn’t answer. Yes! He was desperate to feel Dean’s petal soft lips against his own. Longed for it with everything he could possibly feel. For a moment, Castiel thought about how he couldn’t even remember the last time he had kissed Meg. Usually fleeing the house every morning before she woke, and on the rare occasion he did return to their home, he’d steal through the house and crawl silently into their bed without ever disturbing her. He thought of all the effort he put into his secret and he was just so sick of it all. Sick and tired of hiding and lying. In that moment Castiel recognised a simple thing. Right here, right now, with Dean, he could be anything. Dean was letting Cas be Cas. He didn’t care that Cas was the way he was. In fact, he was here with Cas, in part, because of it. He openly wanted him, and Castiel finally knew how it felt to truly want someone back. The yearn to have them pressed close, to feel their skin, taste their lips. He finally answered in a small voice that he could barely recognise as his own. “I do.”

   Dean smiled a beautiful smile that Cas had not seen before and he pressed forward, Castiel craned slightly to meet him, eyes closing in blissed preparation.

“Everything okay in here, Boss?”

“Adam!” Castiel’s eyes shot open as he gasped out the name of his youngest guard.

   The door knob began to turn and Dean all but flew to the other side of the office and was leant casually against the overflowing filing cabinet by the time Adam’s head peered round the frame. Castiel himself must have looked must more worse for wear. He knew he was sweating, hair a God damn mess at this point, flushed and still panting. At least the shock of Adam’s arrival had flagged his erection enough to stop it being glaringly obvious.

   Castiel collected his last modicum of semblance, steadying his voice he requested Adam to return Mr Winchester to his cell until dinner. They were done here.  Dean shot Castiel a long unreadable look as Adam placed a hand on his shoulder to steer him from the office.

   When Castiel collapsed back against his desk he heard a pile of papers scatter off the top and all over the floor behind him. Cas tried to pull all the words Dean said together in his mind. Make some sense of what had just happened. He grasped desperately to commit the feel of Dean lips against his skin to memory. He pondered over the fact that after years of hidden longing he had finally been touched by a man in the ways he dreamed of. It had really happened.  While Cas knew he should be feeling a lot of ways right now, all he could really think of was that B block, tomorrow would be a rather interesting feat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Many Thanks to the lovely Abi (The Comma Police) who beta'd this for me


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